Re: Collision near the dance floor: Jamie & Patrick
He had known a Mary. Thin - they were all thin, like little china shepherdesses that his mom collected, and were outrageously expensive if you were a small boy who knocked stuff, and had to replace a teeny tiny Bo Peep with your allowance - which meant you had no allowance for like, a year - and brittle, with milkmaid-blond hair she wore in a braid around her head and who basically pirouetted like a musical-box dancer. There were zero Marys Jamie had come across who were dudes. It was a very girl-name. It wasn't impossible because he had also seen a drag-queen named Matilda in scarlet patent leather boots, and Matilida wasn't very 'stage', but whatever, right?
"You can point Mary out on the way. Beard to his knees, a beer-belly, you can show me all the sights, my friend," and Jamie followed because he had said so, and yeah, girls were not easier no matter how much you were around them and stuff. Day in, day out and he still didn't understand that whole 'you don't understand me', deal. "I have a million of them. Sisters, I'm the only guy, I am very familiar with the contents of Cosmo and Elle and a toe-shoe bag but I still don't understand them."
He looked around the office, and he began undoing the buttons of his collar. Champagne seeped over his fingertips and way cool, good look, Jamie. Elegant, even. Was it even champagne? Had he taken a bath in sparkling wine? Jamie unfastened the buttons at his sleeves, "You're doing this all night?"